Are You My Sister? an adoption story Read online



  Are You My Sister?

  an adoption story

  Kathy Parsons Williams

  Copyright 2012 Kathy Parsons Williams

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook is not to be re-sold or given away to others. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  Chapter 1

  The minute I saw my mother’s face, I knew something was terribly wrong. I heard only a minute or so of her conversation on the phone, but the only remark I remember was her last, “I can’t handle this right now—you don’t understand.” Usually politely warm and engaging, Mom was obviously agitated and in a hurry to end the conversation. After returning the receiver to its cradle, she rested her head on the phone apparently unaware that I had just walked into the kitchen.

  “Mom, what’s wrong?”

  “Where’s Kris?” she asked.

  “Upstairs with Holly,” I answered.

  “Go upstairs and make sure she’s okay,” she said so quietly I could hardly hear her. And then, in a robotic trance-like sort of way, she walked over to the kitchen table, dropped herself into the chair facing the window, and just stared outside.

  I had seen Mom act this way a couple of times before—once, when Gran called to tell her that her stepfather had passed away in a terrible car accident. The second time was more recent—Mom was about five months pregnant with my little sister Kris.

  Kris was Mom’s “delightful surprise.” Holly and I were ten and twelve respectively when Kris was born. No one expected there would ever be another addition to the family, but when Mom announced that a new baby was coming, Holly and I were elated, and Mom was just plain giddy. Dad was rather stoic about the whole thing and immediately made plans to convert the office upstairs into a nursery.

  Since Mom was as old as she was, and therefore considered an “older” mother, her doctor recommended a series of medical tests to check for abnormalities more common among mothers her age and older. Dr. Allen strongly implored her to agree to the tests since an earlier sonogram revealed some disturbing possibilities in our baby.

  I was in the kitchen that day, too, when Mom got the call from, I found out later, Dr. Allen’s office. I could tell from the way she grabbed the phone that she had been anxiously awaiting the call, and when I saw her shoulders drop, I knew the news wasn’t good. The color left her face, she had that stunned look, and in a hushed barely audible tone, she asked me to find Dad.

  Dad was in the office/nursery making some changes in the closet.

  “Daddy, Mom wants you,” I said. “She just got a phone call and now she’s upset.”

  “Oh, God,” was all he said.

  He rushed downstairs with me following close behind. I expected that my chances of being included in their conversation were practically non-existent, and I was right. As soon as Mom saw me on Dad’s heels, she placed her hands on my shoulders and directed me toward the kitchen door.

  “Sandy, I have to talk with your dad privately, okay? Go upstairs and see what Holly is doing. Tell her dinner will be ready in about twenty minutes.”

  Twenty minutes. I figured the news couldn’t be that bad if she needed only twenty minutes to hash it over with Dad. Furthermore, she wasn’t crying like she had when Gran told her that her stepfather had died. Still, I rushed back upstairs scaling the steps two at a time intent on returning to the kitchen exactly twenty minutes later.

  First, though, and I knew this from experience, I had to at least warn Holly that something was amiss and that she should take her cues from me once we all congregated at the dinner table.

  When I got to Holly’s room, I could see that she had strewn my collection of Barbie dolls and their accessories all over the floor. Before I could say anything, she defended her actions.

  “You said I could play with them,” she said.

  “I did, but never mind. Something’s going on downstairs. Mom’s upset about something. They’re talking about it right now. We’re supposed to go down to dinner in twenty minutes, so if things don’t seem quite right, keep your mouth shut until Mom starts talking, okay?”

  “What’s wrong?”

  “I don’t know yet. Just don’t say a thing unless Mom starts talking about it, okay?”

  “Is it something about the baby?” she asked.

  “Holly, I-don’t-know still means I don’t know. Now let’s wash our hands—Mom will ask—and get downstairs.”

  We spent almost seven minutes washing our hands—I was watching the clock in the bathroom—before we both made our way to the middle landing of the stairway. I looked at Holly and she looked at me; it was understood between us (as it had countless times before) that a soundless entrance into the kitchen might afford us a few revealing moments of conversation between Mom and Dad. So we crept slowly and quietly down the remaining stairs and then down the short hallway to the kitchen.

  We stood outside the kitchen door hoping to hear what they were saying, but there was nothing but dead silence—no dishes rattling as the table was being set, no running water filling the glasses, and no sound from the TV which was always on during dinner.

  Holly whispered, “What should we do now?”

  I rolled my eyes and said, “We’re going in. Now go.”

  I delicately shoved Holly through the doorway. After scanning the kitchen, I could tell that dinner had been forgotten and, again, Mom was sitting in the same chair with a faraway look in her eyes. Dad was leaning against the island countertop, his arms spread out and his hands resting on its edge. He was looking downward, and no one was saying a word.

  I could see that Holly was scared, and, really, so was I. After several minutes of tense silence, I just had to say something—anything to get Mom talking.

  “Mom, should I set the table?”

  “Not just yet. You and Holly, sit down. We have something….”

  Dad finished her sentence when she couldn’t.

  “…to tell you,” he said.

  Holly asked, “Is it bad?”

  “Um, maybe,” Dad replied. He took Holly’s hand and led her to the table where he sat her down next to Mom.

  “You know your mom has had some tests to check on the baby,” he said. “Well, first, we want you to know that our baby is a girl.”

  Holly’s pursed lips turned into a smile and she looked at me. But I knew something more was coming because neither Mom nor Dad looked happy. So when I didn’t smile back at Holly, she looked nervously at Mom.

  I was searching Mom’s face, too. She wasn’t crying, but she looked as though she might start at any minute. And then she turned her face and stared out the window.

  “Mom,” I said.

  She didn’t answer and I could tell that Dad was getting nervous. He wasn’t usually good at tackling serious issues, but I guess he knew he was going to have to handle this one.

  “We could have some challenging times after the baby comes,” he said, his voice unsteady.

  Challenging times? This didn’t sound like Dad.

  “Daddy,” I said, “just say it.”

  He looked over at Mom who looked at Holly and me. He gave himself a needed moment to compose himself, cleared his throat, and then spoke.

  “There’s something wrong with the baby,” he said.

  “Is she going to die?” Holly asked.

  “She has a condition that she will have her whole life. And sometimes babies who are born with this condition also have heart problems,” he said.

  “But is she going to die?” Holly repeated.

  That’s when the tears began to flow. Holly started first, I followed, and Dad and Mom joine
d us. For a few minutes no one could utter a word, and then Mom surprised the rest of us by offering to make banana splits.

  Are you kidding, I thought. We’re in the middle of a crisis here and you’re thinking of ice cream? But Mom was always pretty smart and I caught on after a couple of minutes. Sometimes ice cream has a way of calming the emotions, and she knew she had better do something before Holly had a meltdown.

  “Holly,” she said, “you get the spoons. I’ll get the ice cream. Sandy, get the toppings from the refrigerator. Dad, you get to peel the bananas.”

  As if it were a regular day and a regular time, we all got busy with our assigned tasks. Still, no one was talking. I was about to burst with anxiety, but Holly seemed to calm down and Dad never once complained about slicing the bananas when everyone knew he couldn’t stand touching peeled bananas.

  After the banana splits were made and sitting in front of us all, Holly and I started digging in. I felt a little better, I’ll have to admit, and Holly seemed a little happier herself.

  It was a little easier now to resume our conversation.

  “Okay,” I said, “so she has a condition.”

  “It’s called Down’s Syndrome,” Mom offered.

  I was only twelve at the time, but I knew what Down’s Syndrome was.

  “She’s going to be retarded?” I asked.

  “These days,” Mom said, “the doctors are using the word ‘challenged.’”

  Oh, so that’s where Dad got that word.

  Within the following few months, Mom tried to prepare us for the “challenges” she and Dad expected to have with our new baby. Mom looked for books at the library, the bookstores, and even the resale shops. A friend from church helped her make contact with another family whose little boy had the same condition. And she had Holly busy getting our baby’s room ready and clothes organized. We were as ready as we could be.

  After Kris was born, Mom and Dad finally got over the shock of having a “not so perfect” baby and Holly and I squabbled over our baby sister just like any two older sisters of “perfect” babies. Life just seemed to go on. I guess it’s true that God won’t give you more than you can handle.

  So who was Mom talking to that day on the phone, and what was it that she just didn’t think she could handle?

  Chapter 2

  After a couple of days, I practically forgot about Mom’s mysterious phone call. She was acting as though she had forgotten it, too. She and Mrs. Harris had begun planning the eighth grade graduation ceremony and graduation party, and she was spending a lot of time at the mall searching for dresses for the three of us girls. Mrs. Harris was doing the same for her daughter, Jen.

  Jen and I had been best friends since preschool mainly because our moms were best friends for just as long. My mom enrolled me in preschool shortly after Mrs. Harris enrolled Jen, so the lives of the four us were solidly intertwined since then.

  About two weeks into the graduation planning, Jen took me up to her room and told me to sit on her bed because she had something to tell me. She tossed that blond mane of hers the way she always did when she thought what she was about to say was earth-shattering, or at the very least, important. I couldn’t take her seriously usually unless she made me pinky-swear, and this day, she did exactly that.

  “You can’t tell a soul,” she warned me. “I will be in big trouble if you tell.”

  “The only people I talk to are you and Holly—who am I going to tell?” I asked.

  “You can’t even tell Holly.”

  Well, I had to agree to that because Holly’s brain sometimes had a hard time catching up with her tongue, and I didn’t want to be responsible for a pinky-swear betrayal.

  “Okay,” I complained as we briefly hooked our pinky fingers. “Just tell me!”

  Jen backed down a little. I could tell she was scared, like the time she told me her parents were getting a divorce. Even my mom didn’t know until after Jen had told me.

  “Maybe I shouldn’t….” she said haltingly.

  “Is it about your mom?” I asked eagerly.

  She didn’t answer right away, but when she did, I almost fell off of the bed.

  “It’s about your mom,” she said quietly.

  “Oh, my gosh,” I responded. “Mom and Dad are getting a divorce?”

  Jen clicked her tongue and rolled her eyes.

  “Your parents aren’t getting a divorce, as far as I know, but this sure could cause one.”

  “Are you going to tell me, or what?” I was exploding with anxiety.

  “You pinky-swore,” she reminded me.

  “Okay!”

  She paused dramatically and swung that hair again.

  “You have a sister,” she said slowly.

  So what else is new, I wondered.

  “I have two sisters,” I replied.

  “You have three sisters,” she said in a very controlled sort of way.

  I couldn’t process what she was saying right away. But I remembered the time Mom and Dad had told Holly and me that our new baby sister was on her way.

  “Mom is going to have a baby?” I fell back on the pillows and put my hands over my ears as if that would do any good!

  Jen grabbed my arms, pulled my hands away from my ears, and said, “No.”

  That was all she said at first. I was so confused I couldn’t have anticipated in a hundred years what was coming next. I couldn’t even think of what I should ask. Jen was looking into my eyes and the silence between us was absolutely brutal.

  “You have a sister,” she said again. “She’s seventeen and her name is Sarah.”

  I guess my next comment was kind of silly, but it’s the first thing that came out of my mouth.

  “But I’m the oldest,” I said as I sat upright.

  “Not really,” she answered.

  I swallowed hard and tried to organize the thoughts that were racing through my head, and I could come to only one conclusion.

  “I don’t know where you heard all this, Jen, but it’s not true,” I told her smugly.

  “I heard it from your mom. She was telling my mom all about it. Believe me, my mom was just as surprised as you are.”

  I swallowed again. I could hardly take a deep breath. If what Jen was saying was true, and anything secret told by way of pinky-swearing had to be true, then there was only one explanation to be had—Sarah was born before Mom and Dad were married.

  Of course.

  And then the questions began flooding my mind.

  “Was she married to someone before Dad?”

  “I don’t think so,” Jen answered.

  “Well, then that means….”

  I could feel the energy leaving my body. If I hadn’t already been sitting down, I might have fainted. Unmarried women are having babies all the time, I thought, but that’s not quite what was bothering me. How could my mom have kept something like that a secret? And didn’t I have the right to know? After all, I was fourteen years old. How does your mom carry a secret for fourteen years? And then I thought about Dad.

  “Does my dad know? Did she say anything about that?”

  “Your dad knows.”

  “Well, why haven’t they told Holly and me?”

  “She’s waiting for the right time which could be pretty soon.”

  I perked up a little when she said that.

  “What do you mean?” I asked.

  “Sarah has contacted your mom. She wants to see your mom.”

  I slowly rose from the bed not totally trusting that my legs could hold me. I told Jen that I had to go home, and again she reminded me that I had pinky-sworn and that she would be in big trouble if “our” secret got out. I assured her of my loyalty and I rushed downstairs and then out the front door.

  I walked and walked purposely taking the long way home so I would have time to think. I almost started crying a couple of times, but I didn’t exactly know why. I wanted to talk to someone, but I knew I couldn
’t for Mom’s sake. I was in turmoil. Here my world was no longer the same. Aside from my graduating from the eighth grade and then heading to one of the biggest high schools in the state, I suddenly have an older sister I didn’t know existed, I’m tackling with the fact that my parents are keeping a huge secret from me, and I can’t tell Holly a thing.

  Chapter 3

  The following day, Mom took the three of us girls to look at dresses she had seen at the mall. She kept asking me if I felt well, and I kept telling her I was just fine.

  “You’ve been so quiet all day,” she said.

  “I’ve just got a lot on my mind,” I answered.

  We were walking in the mall by then, and I wanted to change the subject.

  “What stores did you see the dresses in?” I asked.

  “They’re all in the same store,” she said. “This way.”

  I scooped up Kris into my arms because Mom had forgotten the stroller. By the time we reached Valigura’s, my arms hurt and I was in no mood to look at dresses.

  “What is the matter with you?” Mom asked.

  “Nothing,” I said, but I wanted to blurt out everything. Who is Sarah? Why didn’t you tell me about her? Am I going to meet her? What does Dad think about all of this?

  But I didn’t. Instead, I quietly followed Mom to a rack of identical blue dresses, all in different sizes.

  “Here it is,” she said proudly. “What do you think?”

  Holly and I looked at each other.

  “Mom, is this dress for me, Sandy, or Kris?” Holly asked.

  “All three of you,” she answered.

  For a minute, I forgot all about Sarah.

  “Mom, are you kidding?” I complained. “This looks like a baby dress especially if Kris is wearing it.”

  Holly had the same sentiments.

  “I’m not wearing a baby dress,” she said. “Why can’t we wear different dresses?”

  “Because Gran wants a picture of all three of you in the same dress, and I thought we could use these dresses for the picture and the graduation party. Good idea?”

  Holly’s brow was furrowed which wasn’t a good sign.

  “That’s a horrible idea, Mom,” she said. “Why do I have to go to the graduation party anyway? I’m not the one graduating.”

  “We’ve been through all of this, Holly. Dad and I are chaperoning, so we all have to go.”

  “I can stay home with Kris. I’m old enough to babysit.”